Questions in Water

The sands rolled and rocked beneath their feet, their cadence of step rising and falling as they crested the dunes, only to fall under shadow of clouds above.

The guard and the prince had travelled far and the end was just in sight. Far, far over the black mountains ahead was the last fortress, the trace italienne. This where the prince would be kept safe from the world. At night they could see the single red firelight of the star fort on the horizon, a bloody flickering point signing on and off in a scarcely perceptible language.

It’s awfully hot said the prince. He was wiping the gushing sweat from his brow.

The guard didn’t say anything, his eyes poking the landscape for something to reveal itself as a threat. Try not to talk too much, he said. Voice carries on the wind.

But it’s so boring out here.

That’s why it’s perfect my prince. He crested the dune, surveying the next valley. For the meantime, you’ll need to keep quiet he said.

The guard was honour bound to keep the prince safe, as the sole protector of the last heir of a rapidly evaporating kingdom by the sea. He had been given to the prince as a birthday gift.

Look, the king had said to the prince, we’ve gotten you a playmate. He’ll look after you and guard you and keep you safe.

And they had removed the guard’s chains and given him a type of freedom, a misnomer of the real thing. Bound for life to the young prince, the guard was now indentured again to new masters; the price of a brave new world and forever in debt to benignity of the prince. The guard was considered a traitor to his native race and a sub-human to his inherited one.

Gusting sharp wind, edged with crimson sand.

This distant edge of the world was unmapped and unformed, somewhere between longitude and latitude had the desert appeared before them. Ruby red sand spilling outwards and on and the only landmarks were the great shadowy mountains on the horizon, jagged peaks thrust tall to split the sky. They could see the fort, a tall black barbican thing jutting upwards over a surgeon’s scar of a mountain range.

Nights falling said the guard. We should make camp.

---

This was the fifth night now, each one growing colder and colder and the days hot, lit from above by a sun intent on scorching the earth clean. The guard stared into the fire while the prince fidgeted restlessly. The fire fell low, pushed into submission by the chilled night wind.

Read me a story said the prince as he shuffled in closer to the guard. In the light, the prince looked a type of androgyne; boyish blonde hair and cherub cheeked with no discernible gender.

Not tonight young prince.

I order you to tell me a story

Prince, I have no energy.

The prince frowned. I don’t like you very much right now he said. You’re no fun. Everyone is no fun anymore.

These are not fun times young prince. The people are angry at you.

What for?

The guard wanted to answer that there were a great many things the people were angry at him for. Ever since the king and the queen perished, the people had been angry.

The prince had come to power with a child’s mind but a leader’s power and in the kingdom by the sea, nobility was all seeing and knowing, eyes and ears with destiny manifest unto their sceptre and crown. The prince had ordered armies to move and sway towards dangerous borders, the annoying natives finally turned extinct and the beginning of a wider cull of undesirable people.

In time the harvests failed, the fields turned to bracken and mutterings of dissent turned into disgust at matters in the capitol. Crowds gathered outside the Castle demanding to see the prince.

Standing high on the belvedere, the prince had addressed the huddled masses below, telling them of the coming holocaust he had planned for them all. The faces fell from pleasure into dis-, rocks flung and the masses falling into affray as they clamoured for the castle.

It was then it had all fallen apart and the prince was hurried off the balcony. The last of the royal family sent out of the castle, through the passage, out of the city, by the guard. Instead the guard said none of that.

They are angry because they look for someone to blame said the guard.

Hmph. I’ve done nothing wrong said the prince.

The guard thought the prince to be anaclitic; dependent on others for any idea of himself. The prince had doggedly followed behind his parents, always chipping in with what he thought to be an intelligent comment or insight. Now he bounced his own opinions off the guard for an idea of himself. The fire now cast dark shadows on the boy.

The prince was pudgy, his straw hair appressed from hours in the suncap, slick with sweat and rife with a stench of salt. The guard’s pale skin looked translucent in the fire light, with the characteristic eyes of the native populace. The prince noticed it too.

Is it true you natives used to worship a snake god? He asked the guard that.

Ophicleide, yes.

What was he the god of?

Life and death. He decided who lived and died.

Is that all he did? The prince asked this incredulously

No. We had many gods, Carrivous for war, G-

I don’t like your gods.

I know how much you don’t like our gods.

I don’t like any gods said the prince, sitting up now, conversationally inclined. See, this is why I got rid of the Church. Gods are very useless indeed. You pray to them all the time and what do they do? They just sit and watch. Did your god, Ophelius-

Ophicleide

Him, yes, did he help your people when I killed them all?

No. I suppose it did not. Guard fell silent. He felt a million deaths yelling at him from the Beyond.

Do you think I’ll be able to go home one day? said the prince. He looked optimistic as he said it.

Perhaps. The kingdom of the mountains is allied with the royal family. We can ask their help from the trace italienne. It all depends on the reaching the tower.

As the prince slept soundly, the guard watched over him, rolling a large rock in his scorched raw palm. He had realised long ago the type of child the prince was: selfish. He saw the death towns built to exterminate his native race who now only a footnote in the reign of the prince. The debasement of the land, the wars and famine. The prince was a young precocious brat, sentencing those to death as if it were still play and game. I’ll be the king and you be the subject.

The guard thought about how honour bound he was to the prince. He had watched him grow from a toddler not yet weaned to a boy with a man’s burden. Yet still he felt indebted to the young prince, who had often shown kindness to the guard in times of great joy. Whom did he owe allegiance to, he wondered. The country, his race or his master and commander?

---

The desert was boundless, blood red sand crunched beneath their feet, waves billowing off into the horizon as they sharpened into distinct form the closer they got. Shimmering dry heat stalked them, getting closer and closer with each passing minute, marked by sweat seeping lower and lower down the guard’s face. Every dune sharpened the closer one got, detail becoming evident through parallax as they crested another dune.

Look! A water hole! Yelled the prince.

The cool calm water lay in the valley below, blue and deep and quiet. The prince shed all clothes and forded into the depths. The guard could not stop him if he wanted.

Come in and enjoy the water the prince beckoned to the guard.

He slipped the sword from the holster and disrobed, entering the dark depths. The prince swam with back to the guard, playing gleefully as a child only can.

The guard felt it wash over him as revelation does. He could hold the prince down, overpower him. Drown the boy of twelve years and free a kingdom from a despotic rule. Push the blubbering runt down below the water and hold him until all sense leaves him, all injustice quelled as the water settled to hide all evidence. But to kill a child. Supposing he even did-

Come, help me wash the prince beckoned and the guard trudged through the water, feet feeling the sandy bottom of the oasis.

The prince offered his neck to the guard, as he cupped water and let it run over the royal’s grit covered body. The layers and layers of sweat and dirt washing away to reveal pale pudgy skin, unmarked by the journey.

Grab the neck and do it. Clasp both strong hands and push him under.

You’re clean of it all prince, washed clean. We should get out said the guard, shakily. The prince huffed indignantly and clambered out, splashing wildly. The guard followed.

As they dressed and dried, the water returned to mirror stillness and reflected the guard back at him as if to say: you could have, you should have. And the guard wondered if the water was right.

#fictions #fantasy #minimalist #violence #surreal #bizarre #isolation